Poems as Humbugs for Small Demons

We offer ourselves up politely,

Politely as we can. We’re not here

For you, but then, if not for you, who?

We are mere biscuits, cookies, snack food

Unwrapped and set out on a platter

So that this can seem like a shindig

Of a modest sort. Have a nibble,

Why not? No one ever got too fat

From eating free snacks. Those who consume

What’s been set out for small occasions

Such as this either are already

Heavily over-fed or simply

Ravenous, awfully underfed.

No one’s status changes thanks to us.

For the rest, we get stale, tossed as trash,

Worthless for nourishment, flavorless,

Hard as charcoal briquettes, pressed cinders

Of petcoke, like pillows for dead dolls

Or twisted humbugs for small demons,

Whatever that might mean, whatever

You might make of whatever we mean.